The Small Print
by non-canonical
Summary: Deification comes with a price tag attached. So does Hal. (Hal/Cutler)


**Title: **The Small Print  
**Fandom: **Being Human  
**Spoilers:** 4x07 _Making History_  
**Warnings: **Slash. Violence. Blood. OC death. Angst. Voyeurism. Sadism.  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own these characters (I wish!), or make any money writing this stuff.

**Summary:** Deification comes with a price tag attached. So does Hal.

* * *

Their first time is raw and hungry. It's been smouldering between them for weeks – suddenly it catches fire and here they are, with Cutler scrabbling at the buttons of Hal's trousers. Then they're naked, and Cutler's hands shake at the thought of what comes next. But he wants to give as much as Hal wants to take.

Hal snarls and pins him to the floor, and there's no way this is going to work. Then his body yields and Hal stretches him impossibly open, and it goes on and on, and it really bloody hurts. But Hal's inside him – actually inside him – claiming him in a way he never dreamt of in life. And when Hal shifts, and tilts his hips, it feels good. Better than good. It's amazing – Hal is amazing – and when Cutler comes it feels like he's gasping his way back from the dead all over again.

There's a shoe digging into the small of his back, and his muscles are starting to protest, but Cutler's grinning like a lunatic because he's never felt so thoroughly fucked.

"I've only ever done it in a bed before," Cutler says, and his conscience stings. "With Rachel." Not the sort of thing he'd normally share, but everything changes when you've had someone's prick inside you.

"Was she good?" Hal asks him. "I thought about fucking her, but it would have been messy. What with the baby and all."

"Baby?" Cutler echoes. "No. She wasn't..." He shakes his head, and the room spins queasily around him. "I would have known."

"The same way that you knew it was her blood you were drinking?"

Cutler flinches, but what Hal is saying can't be true. Rachel would have told him; they didn't have secrets from each other. Except they did, and now he's never going to know for certain, not unless Hal tells him. But Hal smiles, and that poker face of his never slips for a second.

"Anyway," Hal tells him, "I've done you a favour. Children are always a disappointment."

So that was the real point behind all of this. Just a lesson, a none-too-subtle jerk on his leash. Well, point taken; case closed. Cutler stumbles to his feet. This is nothing more than a game to Hal, and that new pain drives the thought of Rachel from his mind.

He's at the door when Hal calls his name and, inevitably, he turns around. He's very bad at denying Hal what he wants.

Hal grins at him. "Next time," he says, "we can do it in a bed."

And they do, but it isn't Cutler's bed, or even Hal's. It's Sally's – a pretty little brunette who made the mistake of falling for Hal's smile – but she's not in it. They put her in the bath so she didn't stain the carpet. Not that there's much blood left in her, but Hal doesn't like a mess.

Hal sprawls, sated and lazy, in Sally's bed. He allows Cutler to strip him, and he stretches out his body for Cutler's attention. And when he finally rolls them over and eases his way inside, it's slow and delicious and this – this is how it ought to be. Hal dips his head and Cutler closes his eyes, his lips parting in anticipation of the kiss.

Hal's fangs stab into the base of his neck. Old instincts; nightmare memories – Cutler struggles, but that just makes Hal bite harder. Then Hal's fingers close around his cock. Cutler grabs Hal's shoulders, but he doesn't know whether he wants to drag him closer or push him away. Every time Hal rocks into him, those teeth tear his flesh, but when Hal finally kisses him there's only the slightest smear of red on his lips. It wasn't blood that Hal wanted.

Everything in this new life is bought with pain.

"Why don't we raise the stakes?" Hal says, one time they're all gathered around the card table. "Next full moon, the loser has to fight the dog."

Hal smiles through a wreath of smoke, that shark's smile that sends fear and arousal shuddering through Cutler in equal measures.

Cutler is no poker player: he always wears his heart on his sleeve. All his money is in the pot, and when Dennis wins the hand panic churns in the pit of his stomach. Then Fergus grins.

"You should see your face," Hal says. He laughs, and the others join in.

Cutler laughs, too, but the fear is still tingling in his veins when the game breaks up and Hal bends him over the table. Cutler tells himself he won't let Hal get to him like that the next time.

And the next time, and the next …

Cutler isn't stupid. He realises soon enough what's going on. He shouldn't be surprised: with Hal, there's always small print. Hal enjoys watching people suffer – making them suffer. Cutler's seen it enough times, but there he was thinking he would be exempt.

Hal's not one to give up something he enjoys, but Cutler can't keep doing this. Hal simply smiles when Cutler tells him he's had enough.

"It's your decision," Hal shrugs.

Hal wants him, he makes no secret of the fact. But as the first day of Cutler's freedom drags by, it's cold comfort. On the second day Cutler can't seem to settle – he wonders if it's possible for a vampire to fall ill – and it only gets worse whenever the other man is near. And on the third day – well, he doesn't really make it that far. He wakes, feverish, in the dark, and he crawls into Hal's bed.

Blood is only his second worst addiction.

"Please."

Hal likes to hear that word. Likes to hear him moan it.

"Do you want this to stop?" Hal asks.

"Yes." Cutler shakes his head. "No." Of course he doesn't.

Cutler learns that he can get used to anything, given time.

Every full moon they stage their spectacle. This time, Hal's arranged a special treat: a true dog fight, wolf against wolf. Maybe it's the violence, or the smell of wolf blood – maybe it's something else entirely, because Cutler never has more than half an idea of what goes on inside the Old One's head – but Hal kisses him, there in the arena.

Cutler doesn't want to, not with the surviving dog snoring in the cage and Fergus still cleaning up. But Hal takes his hand and presses it to the hardness in his trousers, and Cutler's fingers close around it of their own accord. And when Hal shoves him up against the door, Cutler grinds against him – what's one more humiliation?

Fergus reaches around them to lock the door; Hal ruts harder against Cutler and his rhythm doesn't falter.

"I thought you normally took it like a girl," Fergus sneers at Cutler.

But Fergus stays; he watches.

Sometimes the cruelty is physical; sometimes it's mental. The pleasure might come first, or the pain. Sometimes it's both together, and those are the days when Cutler starts to doubt his own sanity. Hal goes for variety. That's good: Cutler doesn't want his maker to get bored.

Hal acquires a new car. A Bentley – the R-Type with the extra space in the boot, of course – in gleaming black and ivory. It's a gift from Felicity Howells, the annoying upstart from Barry, but Cutler would lay odds that it won't be enough to save her. Hal takes a dim view of people trying to fix his precious dog fights.

She gives Hal a driver, too. A new recruit, and he's so nervous that it'll be a miracle if they get home in one piece. It's a shame the man can't see them in the rear view mirror, because right now Hal is kissing him like he's the only thing that matters. Cutler drops his hand to Hal's thigh, but the other man brushes it away.

"Not in the car," Hal snaps.

Which is funny, after what they did in the back seat no more than a week ago. But that was in the old car. Now Hal is worried about his upholstery, and Cutler can't quite stifle his laugh.

Hal makes him pay for that, of course, tormenting him for hours before he lets him come. But at least Cutler knows that he has his full attention.

Fergus hands Cutler a fiver when they put the Howells woman into the cage.

In the summer, a new French restaurant opens in the city centre. A place with no prices on the menu. A place where politicians go to be seen with their wives, and businessmen flaunt their mistresses. Hal chooses to take Cutler.

Hal is silent and distracted; Cutler gulps his wine, and tries not to spill his _moules mariniere_ on the crisp, white tablecloth. Hal pushes his plate aside.

Cutler watches him twirl his lighter, round and round between his fingertips, before he lights a cigarette. Cutler's never seen him like this. It feels dangerous: an illicit thrill. Hal takes hold of Cutler's hand, and he wonders if things are finally changing, if they could find a new form of communication. One that doesn't revolve around sweat and blood.

Cutler leans across the table and offers Hal a soft, encouraging smile. "You can talk to me, you know."

Hal plucks the cigarette from his mouth, and Cutler thinks he's going to speak. Then Hal's grip tightens and the tip of his cigarette sears into the back of Cutler's hand. He wants to yell, but Hal silences him with a look.

Hal lifts the hand to his lips, swipes his tongue across the burn, and Cutler's body responds, the way it always does. By the time Hal reaches for him under the tablecloth, he's already half-hard. He bites his tongue, because there are other diners and Hal is holding a finger to his lips. It's difficult, When Hal is working him just the way he likes, but Cutler manages to hold still. He comes with the taste of blood in his mouth.

Hal frowns, and perhaps Cutler should have flinched more. Perhaps he was supposed to cause a scene; to fail. But Hal can tell when he's shamming, and appeasement infuriates him.

Hal smiles at the waitress when she brings their coffee. Later, Hal makes Cutler watch, and even he winces at what Hal does to the woman.

Full moon: anticipation thickens in the air.

"My room," Hal growls. "Now."

There's a sharper edge to Hal's brutality, of late, and that strange restlessness is back. Cutler shivers at the thought of what the other man might do, but Hal drags nothing but cries of ecstasy from his throat.

They lie, tangled, for a time. When Hal pulls free, Cutler steels himself for the inevitable: the pain with which he purchases his pleasure. But Hal is already slipping on his shirt. Hal smooths his tousled hair and pulls on his trousers. And now he's dragging the braces up over his shoulders, but Cutler waits. Hal never needs to be prompted.

But Hal walks away, as though he's giving himself freely, as though he isn't going to exact his usual price – and isn't this what Cutler's always wanted?

"Hal?"

Hal stops in the doorway.

"I have to check on Le–" He half turns, but his face is in shadow and Cutler can't see his eyes. "On the dog."

Hal closes the door behind him. Cutler is still sweating, but a chill settles in his spine.

"You're spending too much time down there," he tells the empty bedroom.


End file.
